Retired doctor busy in second career as mohel

By Uriel Heilman

Updated 4:45 pm, Thursday, May 10, 2012

Photo: Michael Paulsen

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Max Mintz MD poses for a photo at his home, Wednesday, May 2, 2012, in Houston.
Mintz is perhaps the busiest mohel (a Jewish person trained in the practice of brit milah "covenant of circumcision") in Texas and his work as a mohel takes him all over the country to perform the ritual.
( Michael Paulsen / Houston Chronicle ) less

Max Mintz MD poses for a photo at his home, Wednesday, May 2, 2012, in Houston.
Mintz is perhaps the busiest mohel (a Jewish person trained in the practice of brit milah "covenant of circumcision") in Texas ... more

Photo: Michael Paulsen

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Pamphlets Max Mintz MD gives out, Wednesday, May 2, 2012, in Houston.
Mintz is perhaps the busiest mohel (a Jewish person trained in the practice of brit milah "covenant of circumcision") in Texas and his work as a mohel takes him all over the country to perform the ritual.
( Michael Paulsen / Houston Chronicle ) less

Pamphlets Max Mintz MD gives out, Wednesday, May 2, 2012, in Houston.
Mintz is perhaps the busiest mohel (a Jewish person trained in the practice of brit milah "covenant of circumcision") in Texas and his ... more

A retired Houston-area pediatrician who works as a mohel, or Jewish ritual circumciser, Mintz has circumcised 9,700 babies during the past 30 years, according to his count.

So, what does he do with all those foreskins?

It depends, he says, on what the parents want.

Some ask that it be buried, in accordance with Jewish tradition, and it ends up in a pot of soil or in the backyard. Others want to keep it, and Mintz hands it over wrapped in a piece of aluminum foil. Most parents forget about it, though, and Mintz simply disposes of it.

"According to Jewish religious tradition, if you cut your arm off, you bury it so it comes back to you during the resurrection of the dead," Mintz says. "But you don't need your foreskin back. You can just throw it away. But if they want me to bury it - no problem, I have plenty of places to put it."

Jewish law requires that male babies be circumcised on the eighth day of life as a sign of the covenant between God and the Jewish people. The Hebrew word for circumcision, bris, technically means "covenant." Today, most mohels hail from one of two professions: rabbi or doctor.

Mintz, who got his start as a doctor, says the other question he often gets is, who agreed to be your first? As with many mohel-doctors, it happened by chance. Mintz had done plenty of surgical circumcisions in hospitals, but it wasn't until his wife's cousin gave birth to a son in 1979 that he was drafted into ritual service. The cousin lived in Beaumont, about 90 miles east of Houston, and all three mohels in Houston at the time were scheduled to be out of town on the baby's eighth day.

So one of them loaned Mintz his instruments, gave him a quick tutorial and pressed him into service.

"If you know how to do something surgically, just changing to another instrument is not so difficult," Mintz said. "And the ritual method is so much simpler, so much less complicated. You get a much better result in a much shorter period of time."

Thus began a practice that Mintz says has been one of the most satisfying of his life.

"It's the perfect job, actually," he said. "It's always a very happy occasion. I don't have to do funerals like a rabbi. Everyone wants to meet you, to feed you and so forth. And I feel I'm doing something worthwhile."

The most rewarding aspect, says Mintz, an Orthodox Jew, is the religious component.

"You're bringing another child into the covenant between God and the Jewish people. It's gratifying to be a part of it," he said.

Mintz doesn't circumcise only Jewish children. Many parents choose circumcision for aesthetic or health reasons - it reduces risk of sexually transmitted diseases and, according to some studies, cancer - and parents often want their kids circumcised at home. Mintz, who charges about $350 for the service, is happy to oblige.

Until he retired, most of the babies he circumcised were not Jewish. Today, about 70 percent are Jews.

When done correctly, the procedure takes only about a minute, plus some prep time.

In the traditional ceremony, the father and clergy recite blessings and bestow the baby with his Hebrew name. Then everyone sits down to eat - which is where the bagels, lox and cream cheese come in.

One of Mintz's most unusual brises was in the Tulsa, Okla., airport. The ceremony was supposed to take place at a synagogue, but the airline lost Mintz's bag with his instruments. It was located and put it on the next flight, but there wasn't enough time to get Mintz to the synagogue and back for his flight home. So the parents rushed to the airport, and the baby was circumcised in the airport chapel.

Shortly after he began his mohel career, Mintz, who has circumcised all five of his grandsons, began keeping count of his circumcisions. He expects to reach 10,000 near the end of this year.

Now 71, Mintz says he'll keep circumcising as long as he can - until he gets shaky.

"I enjoy doing it," he says. "As long as people want me to and as long as I'm no danger to the child."